So I put on my Spotify, clicked on Daily Mix 1, hopped in the shower and a song came up with the title 'Gypsy' and I was immediately inspired to write this. If any of you would be interested in seeing where this goes please let me know. I've really enjoyed writing this so far.
It was cold. It was always cold this time of year. When the chill in the air whisks away the leaves on the floor, replacing them with white flakes from crowded clouds. When the breath leaves your mouth and you see it in front of you, like a chain smoker would see their cigarette smoke.
He sat there; outside of the tall building, the busy street bustling with passers-by; children running to school, students scrambling to make their 9am seminar and workers with coffee in their hands and briefcases bulging with overdue paperwork. He didn't know the type of goings-on that happened inside that building, all he knew was that he never got moved. And it was safe. It quickly became his spot. After moving from outside of rowdy bars and dirty underground steps, he set up his worn out sleeping bag, his trusty backpack, imprinted with his surname that held what could have been a legacy and the clothes on his back.
It had been 18 months. Hot summers, crisp falls, cool springs and bone chilling winters. 18 months had passed since he rode away on his matte black motorcycle, with his whole life on his back, never turning once to look at the people and the life he was leaving behind.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
